Dice Are Rolling
by Celestial Dauphine
Summary: Hans has been sent back to the Southern Isles. At his trial he is sentenced to slavery under one of his elder brothers, who will make very certain Hans will regret what he has done. (Pretty bad Hans whump)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story will be relatively long. It will contain some disturbing scenes (very much Hans-whump). I'll be leaving it rate 'T' though, but I will put the rating and warning for each chapter in the author's notes. If you don't like this sort of thing don't read. You have been warned. And forgive the chapter names, I'm not so creative with naming things.**

**Warnings: None**

**Disclaimer: I don't anything here, only the idea for this story. **

Chapter 1: The Long Awaited Trial

The great hall was filled with the courtiers and diplomats of the Southern Isles. The high ceilings arching over head dwarfed the crowds of people below. Upon the throne in the center of the far end of the hall, sat King Asher, the Sun King of his kingdom. And below him, kneeling with his face turned down toward the marble floor, was Hans, a former prince and brother of the man who stood over him.

The other princes, the once brothers of the disgraced man, stood behind the king. Each wore a look with its own degree of animosity towards Hans. King Asher stepped forward, his face set in a stoic mask. He looked down on his brother, what was once his brother he reminded himself. No brother of his would commit crime as atrocious as Hans had.

He brought his scepter down on the floor. The clanging resounded throughout the hall. The excited murmuring of the crowd died down as everyone turned to see what sentence would be passed on the traitor. Hans, too, brought his eyes up to meet his elder brother's. His lips drew up into a haughty smirk.

"Hans, son of Aramis, you have been brought before this court today to answer for your crimes." King Asher cast a withering glance down at Hans as he gestured for a scroll to be brought by a servant. He read from the scroll, "You are charged with treason against Arendelle, an ally of the Southern Isles, and the attempted murder of both Queen Elsa and Princess Anna of Arendelle. What have to say to defend yourself?"

King Asher glowered on his brother with dark eyes. There was nothing, in his opinion, that could excuse his brother's actions, and though he would never allow it to show, this whole affair saddened him. Hans threw his head back still smirking as though he were certain he was safe from retribution only because of his royal blood. He leaned back on his haunches though he was not permitted to stand. The guards behind him saw to that.

"Nothing," he shrugged carelessly. "I simply wanted a throne. Here, I didn't have a chance as you well know. Murdering all twelve of you would be much too messy. Easier to marry into a lineage and murder the elder wench."

A collective gasp and mutterings of dissention rose around the hall. To hear one of their princes speak in such a callous way about his heinous crimes struck a fear and hatred into the hearts of the people. Even behind the king he could feel their brothers fuming with righteous anger. He could not feel this anger or hate, he could only feel the dark pit in his soul knowing what he had to do to his sorely misled kin.

"Upon seeing your unrepentant behavior I must find only one course of appropriate action," King Asher paused here. He drew in a weary breath preparing himself for what he had to do. "I find you, Hans, son of Aramis, guilty of all charges. And your sentence will be to spend the next three years as a slave."

"Asher!" Now Hans looked worried. His auburn hair had fallen into his eyes lending him a heart wrenching desperate look, though it would gain him nothing now.

_'You should have thought of this before, brother. Work will not kill you, though_.' The king shook his head sadly. Turning to the crowd, he announced loudly. "As a slave you will need a master." Hans made a choking noise that went ignored by the king. "If there are any here who will volunteer for this position please step forward."

There was a general shuffling but other than that no one spoke. No one wanted him. Every head was down turned just in case any eye contact could see them saddled with the disgraced prince.

"I will take him." Declyn, the third brother in line, stepped forward regarding the rest of the court calmly with his light piercing eyes. He looked formidable, though he was not the largest of the brothers he was strong without doubt and the black hair that was tied in the small ponytail lent him a dark sort of facade.

"Brother! Please!" Hans was not asking for forgiveness. Asher knew that without looking at him. He had never thought he was wrong, ever. He only wanted another punishment or maybe even just another master. After all, Declyn had ignored him without break for two full years, but the king saw no problem. They were all young then, and it was a foolish child's game. The past had no bearing on the present situation they found themselves in.

"You will go with him." At Hans' pouting face he continued, "I warned you of your ambition. It could not be controlled and now you must suffer the consequences." With a swift gesture, the king directed the guards towards Hans.

He tried to throw the guards off him, bucking angrily, as they came to clamp the metal cuffs around his wrists. Hans glared up at Asher, but did not ask for reprieve anymore. Asher sighed and could have rolled his eyes if the situation had carried any less gravity. His little brother's pride had finally caught up to him.

The crowd stared up at the king as he waved his hand, regally dismissing them. There was no murmuring now, they had been satisfied after all. This was what they had all wanted, and sadly it was also what was needed.

**A/N: Sorry, I know, me again so soon. I just wanted to say sorry there weren't really any feels or whump in this chapter but I promise it's coming up next time. So stay tuned!**


	2. Chapter 2: For the Best

**A/N: Sorry this took so long, but I did have a snow day today so it finally got done! I also have a snow day tomorrow so I'll start work on chapter three. I'm sorry if this isn't that great of a chapter, I was having some difficulty with the violence. If anyone has any suggestions on have to write physical violence I'd greatly appreciate some advice. I'm much better at psychological angst which will probably be more prominent in the next chapters so stay tuned.**

**Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, violence, and blood**

Hans was brought out of his brooding when the party finally arrived in Declyn's chambers. The guards thrust him on to the cold stone floor. Hans tried to bring up his hands to stop his fall, but as they were chained behind his back he only managed to cut his wrists on the metal. His shoulder cracked against the stone with a sickening jolt that traveled through his body. He lay there for a moment, stunned. Above him he could hear Declyn giving the guards orders to leave them. He turned himself over. uncomfortably placing his full weight on his bound hands under him. Shaking his hair back from his face he stared up at his brother coldly as the door slammed behind the guards.

Declyn glanced down at his brother, his eyes were dark and cold, and only rested on him for a moment before casually sliding away, as he skirted around Hans. He went to his desk instead, sitting down at the richly carved chair and taking out papers that looked official. Hans drew in a sharp breath, not quite believing it. Again? Really? He glared daggers at his brother's back.

As Declyn's pen scratched away at the papers, Hans shifted his weight from one elbow to the other, wincing as his full weight rested on his bruised shoulder. He raised himself to his knees then from there to his feet. He puffed out his chest confrontationally. He may be dressed in rags and bound by chains like a common prisoner, but he was still a prince, should be a king, whether his brothers or those wenches of Arendelle wanted to believe it.

Utilizing the most commanding voice he could muster, he addressed his brother, "What are you going to do to me, _"brother"?_" When Declyn didn't respond, he laughed, gaining momentum. "Just pretend I'm not here? Again? That's very mature. A very suitable _punishment_, yes?"

Without warning, Declyn's chair was thrown back by the force of his thrusting himself to his feet. He backhanded Hans across the face before he could utter another poisonous word. Hans jerked back, in shock more than pain, the latter he wouldn't feel until the shock faded in a minute. Declyn grabbed Hans by the back of his neck so he could not get away from him, no matter how much his little brother squirmed. He brought their faces closer together so he was certain that he had Hans's full attention.

"No, you've made me quite aware of your presence." Something in Declyn's voice caused Hans to freeze, only able to stare back into those eyes that were dark with a barely controlled storm of hatred. He involuntarily flinched away from him, but was held fast by the firm grip on the nape of his neck. Declyn's thin lips twitched into a satisfied smirk as he saw Hans squirming.

He turned Hans roughly in his bruising grip so that Hans could no longer see him. He stiffened expecting some sort of passionate rage that his brother was known for, but to his surprise the chain around his wrists went slack. Hans jerked away, furrowing his brow distrustfully as he regarded his brother.

Declyn turned his back to Hans as he made his way over to the closet. He didn't need to worry about being attacked from behind by his brother. He was stronger then Hans tenfold. He wouldn't exert much effort at all to subdue him again. Hans's face burned with that knowledge, but still, stayed his hand. Instead, he rubbed the lacerations on his wrists. At least there wouldn't be any more chaffing.

Finally, Declyn turned around holding a tall, hawthorn walking stick. Hans raised a brow, "Are we going somewhere? Perhaps to check on your troops? You were made captain of the guard recently, yes? Maybe I'll follow you around, be your secretary."

The first blow came, unexpectedly. A loud crack echoed in the Spartan chamber. Hans fell to the floor in a heap with a sharp gasp of pain. After a moment of ragged breathing he shook himself, trying to support himself on his abused elbows as he looked up at his brother. "A beating? Like when we were children?" He laughed dismissively. Humiliating but a slap was pathetic.

The second blow crashed against his shoulder blades driving him to the ground, and the third came after in quick succession. Hans felt his right shoulder blade crack under the blow the pain shooting through his back. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, tasting the coppery taste run over his lips.

"Now under usual circumstances I would say that it was wrong to strike someone weaker than you," Declyn said, casually stepping on Hans's back, holding him down. "However, wouldn't you say Princess Anna was weaker than you?"

Hans licked his lips, but found his tongue was dry. The walking stick smacked against his back again making him jerk against his brother's foot. Declyn only pushed down harder as he knelt on his back, driving the air out of Hans's lungs. He leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Tell me did she cry when you boasted about what you did, how you never loved her?" Hans looked back to the grey floor to avoid his piercing eyes. "I'll bet she did," he continued. "So here's my bargain, I beat you, until you cry... good enough?"

The weight left his back, but before he could struggle to his feet he was struck again. The blows came at irregular pace for almost three quarters of an hour. Sometimes one would come right after the other causing a searing pain and other times Declyn would wait for a beat or two before striking again so that he would not be able to prepare and each hit brought more pain. Hans grunted after only the first twelve strokes. He tried to keep silent, but he was heard. Declyn leaned down again over him. "On second thought you may be weaker than the Princess. I hear a broken heart would hurt more than a few lashes." He laughed as he stood once more, this time pulled the shirt off of Han's back. Hans's cheeks burned in shame as he squeezed his eyes shut. He had seen others outlast this punishment before. Was he really so weak that a few blows would cause him to cry out?

After a few more lashes Hans began to scream outright, unable to contain himself any more. He squirmed with every blow and then once his back had been bruised and bloodied a final blow came across his spine. The pain was so intense as the staff slammed against his back creating a painful shudder that traveled through his whole body. Hans was sure that his spine had snapped. He was paralyzed or dying. That was the only explanation for such pain. His hazel eyes unfocused as he began to wail. He wasn't even aware that he was crying, only that he wanted it to stop.

Declyn smiled as he watched his little brother fall apart under his hand. Hans was still wailing loudly, tears flowing from his eyes. Shaking his head, Declyn pushed him over on to his back with a gentle chuckle at the hiccup in the screaming when his head hit the floor. He pressed his foot to his brother's throat until he stopped screaming, gasping sobs the only sound in the now eerily quiet room. "Shut up," he commanded gruffly. "We're only getting started."

Hans shivered, but silenced himself, not wanting to earn another lash. He would have liked to ask to get up, but he had the feeling that he shouldn't speak. He only lay there as his body shook with silent sobs. He wasn't sure if it was the pain or who had administered it that had brought him to tears.

~**scene~**

King Asher shrugged off his ceremonial robes, thanking the powers that he had survived this day. It had been trying to say the least. He stood before the long mirror observing himself. A new line had appeared on his brow and his shoulders seemed to carry another heavy weight. His thoughts tonight did not dwell on affairs of state, but on another matter that had not had his attention in a very long while. Hans. He couldn't reconcile his youngest brother, the one who had always seemed to be the most compassionate of their clan, with this villain who took advantage of naïve women. Maybe he should have paid more attention to him.

Suddenly, two thin arms snaked around his neck. "Where are you?" the gentle voice whispered into his ear.

He sighed, turning to his wife of eight years, Delana. She was as lovely as when he first met her, beautiful black tresses falling over pale shoulders framing deep brown eyes. She kept her arms around his neck as she studied his face. "It's Hans, isn't it?" she asked at last.

Asher nodded tiredly. "Yes." He allowed her to lead him over to their grand bed. Delana pushed him down to the bed gently, crawling around behind him. She took hold of his shoulders, rubbing slowly.

After a few moments of silence, broken only by the crackling fire in their hearth, she spoke again. "Do you want my opinion?" She sat back on her heels staring into his eyes with a wisdom that had never been granted to a man in this world. "I think you were too harsh with him."

Asher drew his brow together, perplexed. "What led you to this conclusion?"

"Before our marriage, you know that I was third in line for the throne of my kingdom. I was desperate to prove myself, if only to show that I was worth as much as my older siblings. I can only imagine how he must have felt as thirteenth in line!"

He shook his head. "He never thought of himself inferior. Even if you were somewhat correct, I must consider our relations with Arendelle more important than Hans's pride. He will be treated fairly by Declyn. It's all for the best." He turned to her with a wry smile. "And as for you, you were never inferior." Delana smirked leaning over to share the kiss he deserved for that comment; her worries had been abated.


	3. Chapter 3: Where Do We Go From Here?

**A/N: First I want to thank all of you reading this. And special thanks to all my reviewers, Ameraka, StardustOwl, Lillianna Elaina, Alice L. Kirkland. Super special shout out to IWannaLightsaber, you gave me motivation to seriously move forward with this. I hope all of you continue to enjoy this. Just a warning though for the squemish it does get worse before better. But yay! Long chapter!**

**Warnings: Major angst, demeaning of a human, a bit of language**

Hans lay on his stomach on the cold stone floor. His head felt heavy as it rested on his arm. Maybe it was just the lack of nourishment that was causing him to be so lethargic. He could barely think to change his position even though his arm had been aching in protest at being over extended for so long. His thoughts had slowed to a sluggish pace.

It had been three...no maybe four days? He couldn't spare the effort to recall when he had last seen Declyn. Hans knew only that three or four days ago his brother had cleared the closet and dragged him across the floor into the empty alcove. That was after a particularly severe beating, although couldn't remember how he had offended his brother this time. By the time Hans had come out of the haze of pain and blood he found himself alone in the darkness, chained by his wrists to a stake near the back of the closet.

At first the situation hadn't seemed too worrisome. The darkness in that closet wasn't total. During the day the many windows in Declyn's chamber filtered a thin strip of light into the murk and at night when Declyn was still awake the candles would come through the crack in the doors in dim spots.

The first day of this captivity Hans shouted anything and everything he could think of, calling Declyn a bastard and proclaiming his apathy for his crimes. Barely two hours of shouting passed before Declyn had come in, throwing open the doors of the closet so violently that they thundered against their hinges. He didn't say a word as he tied a black gag securely in Hans' mouth.

After that Hans resorted to banging on the floor with his fists. That show of dissention only lasted a short while before the chains had cut open his sensitive wrists again. He vaguely noted that Declyn had forgotten to give him any food or water. At the time he thought nothing of it. Not until the second day passed with no nourishment did Hans begin to worry.

As a prince he had never thought much of the rich food and fine wines he was accostumed to. However, now they were all he could think of as his body cried out for food. His stomach roiled angrily, turning against him. By the beginning of the third day he lost all sense of time and thought. He could only lay on his stomach, hoping that the cold stone would distract him from his hunger and delirious thirst.

At some point, he couldn't be sure when because he felt that one moment was an eternity now that his world was slowing down, his stomach had started a rebellion. It heaved until the burning acid burst up his throat. The acid left his throat raw after he was forced to swallow it for the gag that had not been removed. After this failed attempt to vomit, some clairty returned to Hans. Enough for him to make small whimpers of complaint. He could only hope Declyn would hear him. Pride fades quickly when faced with death. Hans believed that he was going to die when no one answered his feeble, imploring noises.

He resigned himself to his fate. Hans laid quietly in the closet. His mind had shut down. He had no use for it anymore. He only needed to focus on the black abyss that yawned open before him.

**~~~Scene~~~**

The corridors in the residential wing of the palace were lit with gentle braziers in the evening. Shadows upon the granite floor grew and wavered with the breeze of someone's passing. The rooms were all silent as it was much too early for any of the princes of the Southern Isles to be in bed. Most would be dining or gallavanting about with women, a favorite passtime of entitled young men.

However, the corridor was not deserted. Queen Delana swept through the halls, never faltering a step. Having excused herself from supper on the account of a weak stomach, she came to the chambers of the second prince, Declyn.

Although she had allowed her husband to satisfy her the night before, her concern was still present. Something, perhaps a woman's intuition, told her that all was not as well as Asher would like to believe. He was a good king, but still could be blind to smaller issues.

In any event, Delana told herself that she would only go to Declyn and demand to see Hans. If all was well, she would apologise and say it was a woman's passing fancy, but if all was not as it should be... She would think of what should be done then, if it came to that.

At last, Delana came to Declyn's chambers. She rolled back her shoulders, if she should find herself alone with Hans then she would deal with him as harshly and fairly as she had witnessed her husband do. Reaching out, she found the door was locked.

A frown formed on her small lips as she gripped the handle with both her hands, trying again to open the door. Still the heavy door would not budge. Delana heard a scraping from inside the room. She stepped back as the door was opened, expecting to see an annoyed and fettered Hans.

Declyn stood in the doorway, staring down on her. Even lacking his armour and fine clothes, he was a formiddible man. He took a moment, as if processing that she was there, before inclining his head. "My lady. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Delana's skin crawled at the sound of his voice. His words were polite and measured, but there was something about him that was not right. She carefully steeled herself. She would not allow herself to be cowed. "I want to see Hans."

There was a brief flash of something malignant in his eyes, but the facade was restored a moment later. Declyn smiled, stepping back from the door with a sweeping gesture inviting her in. "As you can see, he's not here."

A quick survey of the wide room confirmed what he said. Delana spun around on him, meeting his light eyes without hesitation. "Where is he then?"

"The stables," Declyn replied without missing a beat. "I sent him to clean my horses. He should be back in an hour or so, if you would like to come back."

Delana frowned. Still she felt that something was not quite right. Her dark eyes glanced around the room. Everything seemed to be in order, a neatly made bed, a tidy desk, and a cleaned rack of weapons. One thing drew her attention. A pile of clothes and leathers were laying in a pile outside the closet. It was a mess that didn't suit the militaristically clean nature of the rest of the room.

"What are those?" she inquired, raising a genteel eyebrow.

Declyn followed her gaze. "Ah those," he faltered for a moment, his facing turning red as though he were embarassed. "Hans was supposed to clean that closet yesterday, but as you can see, he is still rather incompetent at his new... uh... situation."

_Situation as a slave_, Delana grumbled inwardly. There was nothing more she could do without word of this unorthodox incident getting back to her husband. She was even less satisfied than she had been before. She pressed her lips together thinly, staring at Declyn with a barely veiled challenge. "I should still like to see him. Not tonight, after all it is late, but you will bring him to me soon."

Declyn smiled easily, as he smoothly led her to the door. "Of course, my lady."

His voice was a little too smug for Delana's liking as he agreed, but she could say nothing more about it for as soon as he had finished she found herself shut out in the hallway. She stared back at the heavy wooden door. There was no more noise from within. She drew a breath and shook herself. Worry would do nothing for her now. She would see Hans soon enough. Declyn would not disregard a request of the queen.

However, weeks passed and Hans was never brought to the queen.

**~~~Scene~~~**

Declyn rested his hand on the door, waiting, listening for the receding footsteps. Once he was certain the queen had gone, he paced back to his desk. He began reading his reports again. The borders were secure, and all of his recent plans for the regeneration of the military had gone well. There were no hitches and nothing to worry about. He glanced at the closet. Almost nothing to worry about.

He leaned back in his chair, pulling at the ends of his beard thoughtfully. How many day had it been? He counted backward. Five days, it had been five days. Supposedly, an entire week was the longest time that anyone could survive without water, but Hans was weaker than soldiers who survived that long. If he were to let his little brother die of starvation under his watch, there would be no way to talk his way out of the reprecussions.

Reluctantly, Declyn strode over to the closet. He thrust the doors open, bathing the small space with light. There was no response from the body in the closet. A few days in the dark had done Hans good, at least he was silent now. Hans' tall form was cramped, with his knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his head. As Hans was lacking a shirt Declyn could see how his stomach had caved in on itself. His eyes were a bit sunken now, and his lips were pale and cracked.

Looking down on this unconscious husk of a man, Declyn felt nothing but disgust. He knelt and with a rough touch, he released the chains from around Hans' ankle. There was no response. Even as Declyn lifted his brother and tossed him on the bed, Hans didn't stir.

Declyn briefly worried that he may have miscalculated, but the moment of doubt disapated quickly. He went to his pile of a closet and found a water skin he had filled earlier that day for this purpose. Returning to sit beside Hans, he tilts the water over Hans' face, drenching him.

Hans spluttered weakly, licking his lips with a tongue like sandpaper, seeking any semblance of moisture. His eyes opened only to slits and they were unfocussed spinning around the room, but uncomprehending of anything. Declyn frowned, grabbing his face and forcing his brother to look at him. Hans flinched back from his brother, but was much too weak to put up any sort of fight.

Declyn forced his mouth open, pouring water into his mouth. Hans drank it up, desperately. He whined when it was empty, but quickly silenced himself at a harsh look from his brother.

"I suppose I should feed you as well," Declyn growled at the inconvenience, but he had expected as much. He left Hans on the bed, retrieving a small bag of gristle and crusts that he had taken from what was going to be thrown away after his dinner.

He returned, pressing a crust into Hans' hands. He almost dropped it, but after a moment of effort he managed to grip it with trembling fingers. Hans took a bite as Declyn looked on with a smirk. Hans choked and whined as he realized that he had been given slop.

Declyn grinned, a malignant smile splitting his face. "Shut up and eat it, bitch. You should be grateful for what you're given. I'm being generous even giving you this. I could always put you back in the closet." He raised an eyebrow as if seriously considering the thought.

Hans lowered his eyes, holding the crust close to his chest, like a dog with his bone. He was shaking his head frantically as if already seeing himself back in the dark.

Declyn laughed, laying a hand on his brother's face causing him to flinch violently and pull away from him. He held Hans tightly though and eventually he gave up trying to fight. Declyn leaned closer to his face and whispered into his ear. "Who would've guessed it would be this easy to break you?"


End file.
